


Secrets and Lies

by weakinteraction



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/pseuds/weakinteraction
Summary: Jenny Flint is looking for a new job.  She ends up finding much more.





	Secrets and Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rivulet027](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivulet027/gifts).



"You finished with that, Mr Alexander?" Jenny asks, as sweetly as she can manage.

The butler -- a vanity title, really, in an establishment like Number Eighteen, with only one footman beneath him and all of six staff in total -- startles awake from beneath the newspaper collapsed over his face.

Jenny smooths the newspaper out on the kitchen table and pores methodically over the densely packed advertisements, circling with a pencil all the ones she thinks might be worth her getting in touch with, and even a few that probably aren't.

Cook -- Mrs Moran, but Jenny suspects that even Mr Moran calls her "Cook" -- bustles in. "Now what do you want to be looking at the Situations Vacant for, young Jennifer? You've a perfectly good position here. Who knows, work hard and you may even--"

"May even what? Get to replace you when you finally pop your clogs?"

"I wouldn't show Mr Gadfoot that sort of lip if you want a good reference," Cook says.

She is saved from any further discussion of the merits or otherwise of applying for another job, and indeed of her as an applicant for any hypothetical other job, by the bell.

They all glance up at the board: the third floor bedroom. "That'll be Miss Abigail," Mr Alexander says.

"On my way," Jenny says, suppressing a smile.

As she leaves the kitchen, Dick whispers, "Jenny". His tone is half chiding, half warning. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I'm on my way to attend to Miss Abigail, and that talking to you would make me late."

"You know full well what I mean," Dick says. "All that with the paper just now. You're not going to make yourself any friends that way. I mean, not that--"

Dick is sweet on her, and Jenny would find it endearing if he was even a tiny bit less obnoxious about it. She has hinted vaguely at the existence of a pre-existing sweetheart, although the distinct absence of any letters addressed to her ever arriving from this make-believe person might one day actually penetrate Dick's skull and she'll have to move on to some other excuse. What she certainly can't tell him is that even when she does imagine having a sweetheart, it's never a boy like him. Or any other sort of boy.

"Don't you worry about me, Richard Davidson," Jenny says. "I'm out of this place as soon as I can find a suitable situation elsewhere."

"You don't have to wind them up so much along the way," he says.

"Oh, don't I? But what if I enjoy it?" She turns from him and makes her way up the stairs.

"Jenny," he says again, more plaintive this time.

"What is it, Richard?"

"If you do find somewhere else, will you take me with you?"

She laughs as she heads up the stairs.

* * *

The bell rings twice more as she makes her way to the third floor. This is rather unlike Miss Abigail, whose entire approach to existence is to pretend that her father has already achieved everything he aspires to, and that she is thus able to live a life of complete leisure. Jenny has perfected the art of setting the fire in the morning without waking her, and has lately taken to merely pretending to go in and open the curtains when Mr Alexander asks her to, to allow Miss Abigail a little more sleep. This has earned her a scolding more than once when Mrs Gadfoot has seen fit to visit her daughter and discovered her still slumbering in the dark, but Jenny considers that a price worth paying for the chance to see her smiling face against the pillow as she dreams.

Jenny knows that she could get into serious trouble over the matter of Abigail Gadfoot, if she was just a little less afraid of ever acting on her feelings. But the idea of the consequences that might follow were she to confess herself is only marginally worse than the thought of seeing the object of her desire married to some terrible bore of a man (Jenny can already picture exactly the sort of minor aristocrat who'd condescend to ask for the hand of a jumped-up trader's daughter), or indeed that of living the rest of her life in close proximity to someone she wants but can never have. All of this constitutes her chief motivation in looking for alternative employment. She antagonises the folk below stairs in part so that they'll believe that her antipathy towards them is what's driving her away, to lead them away from the truth.

When she arrives, though, Abigail's usually beautiful face is transformed by ugly, anguished tears, her voice broken by racking sobs.

"Oh, Jenny!" Abigail says, throwing herself onto Jenny in a most unbecoming hug.

"Now, now, Miss," Jenny says, trying her best to pat her back with her arms pinned to her sides. The contrast between the unexpected and entirely welcome physical closeness and the obviously distressing circumstances occasioning it trouble her conscience, but not so much that she can't enjoy the sensation. "There's nothing broken as can't be mended, I'm sure." It's the sort of thing her mum used to say.

"But, Jenny, it was horrible!"

"What was, Miss?"

"The ... the monster!"

Jenny makes an enormous effort to keep her face straight. Whatever is really going on here, Abigail's distress is real enough. "Monster, miss?"

"It was a ... thing, not even a real-- Just a nothingness!"

"Where was it, Miss?"

"There, in the mirror!" She points, which lets Jenny twist out of her grasp for a moment.

"I don't see anything, Miss, I'm sorry," Jenny says.

"It's gone now. It went as soon as you came in. Oh, Jenny, I was ringing and ringing--"

"I'm sorry, Miss, I'll be faster next time."

"What _is_ going on in here?"

Jenny feels herself involuntarily straightening up at the sound of Mrs Gadfoot's voice.

"Oh, Mother!" Abigail says, breaking into a fresh round of sobs.

Jenny manages a minute curtsey as she says, "Excuse me, ma'am, but Miss Abigail thought as she saw something in the mirror."

"I did see something! Oh, Jenny, don't you believe me? Surely you must believe me."

"And exactly what sort of 'something' are we talking about?" Mrs Gadfoot asks.

"It was a ... nothing sort of something," Abigail says.

"Indeed," Mrs Gadfoot says, sitting down on the bed and consoling her daughter in her own, rather austere fashion. "Jenny," she adds quietly, "I think it might be best if we summon Dr Invers."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll send Di-- Richard out right away, ma'am."

* * *

The doctor prescribes his usual remedy: a special "tonic of his own devising" which Jenny has always been convinced is almost entirely laudanum. She sits with Abigail as she drifts from gentle sobs to apathetically staring at the ceiling and finally into a fitful sleep.

She allows herself to stroke her charge's hair as she lies there. A comfort for Miss Abigail, she tells herself, that's all.

And that's when, from the side of her eye, she sees something in the mirror. But it isn't a monster, as far as she can tell. She's there, and so is Miss Abigail, but in the view in the mirror she isn't prone on the bed. Instead, their arms and legs are entwined, and their lips--

Jenny looks away. Surely her imagination is running away with her, making her see things in the looking glass that are only really in her mind's eye.

But then, slowly, she turns back. The vision is still there in the mirror, the culmination of her fondest wishes and most secret desires. Quite impossible in real life, of course. She mustn't get ideas above her station. Or, indeed, imagine that society would look kindly upon her consorting with another girl, even if there weren't the great divide of class between them.

But it does no harm, to look, does it? So she turns to face the mirror, to look _at the infinite empty void, stretching behind it forever_.

Jenny can't stop herself screaming. She knows what Abigail meant now; the nothingness had taken the place of the shape of the two of them together.

"Jenny!" Mrs Gadfoot says as she comes in. "What is the meaning of this? You know that Dr Invers prescribed total rest for Miss Abigail!"

"Whatever it was Miss Abigail saw," Jenny says, the words rushing out between gasps. "I saw it too. Oh, ma'am, it was real. What she saw was real."

Mrs Gadfoot huffs. "Perhaps it was a mistake to put her in your care," she says. "The young female mind is very impressionable, prone to pick up silly ideas from one another. I believe the French call it _folie à deux_."

"Ma'am, with the greatest of respect--"

"I even fell victim to it myself, one summer when I was staying at my uncle's manor house," Mrs Gadfoot continues. "A milder case by far, but ... I do sympathise, my dear." It was quite clear from her tone that this sympathy stretched exactly as far as an understanding that Jenny would definitely never mention it again. "I will stay with Abigail while she sleeps."

"As you wish, ma'am," Jenny says.

"Do you think that you need some of Dr Invers' tonic?" Mrs Gadfoot asks. "I'm sure we could spare a little."

"No," Jenny says, too firmly, so quickly adds, "thank you, ma'am. I'm sure I'll be right soon enough."

* * *

Jenny wakes in the morning without feeling any benefit for her sleep. Her dreams were tortured by her long-suppressed desires, twisted into monstrosities such as she saw in the mirror.

When she reaches the kitchen for breakfast, Dick is the only one there, and Cook has not prepared anything.

"What's going on?" Jenny asks.

"Didn't you hear during the night? Whatever it was you and Miss Abigail saw in the mirror, the nothing-y something-y whatever-it-was, Mrs G saw it too."

"So they believe me now? Believe us."

"Well, Mr G is all on about how there must be a rational, scientific explanation, of course. But he does admit that there is something _requiring_ explanation, at least."

"So where are Mr Alexander and Cook?"

"They're all upstairs having a meeting to decide what to do. Them having longstanding positions in the household and all." Dick smirks. "And them as are supposed to be in charge not having the first bloody clue."

Jenny rolls her eyes. "Well, we'll be fine then, as long as monsters in mirrors are going to want their suits fussing over or an overcooked gala pie." Jenny says. She picks up yesterday's newspaper from where it's waiting by the grate to be used as kindling.

"What are you doing?" Dick asks.

"Getting them the help they need," Jenny asks. "Whether they like it or not." She finds her coat and puts it on.

"Jenny! Where are you going? It's not your day off, you know!"

* * *

The cab fare is half a week's wages by itself, but Jenny hopes that there's at least a chance that they might reimburse her since it's all in a good cause.

She's never travelled inside a cab by herself before, though she's been squeezed in with the family a few times on trips to the theatre. The rare luxury of personal space is something she almost doesn't know how to understand. If the circumstances were less dire, she would almost be enjoying this.

She turns over the paper in her hand, reading the advertisement again:

MADAM VASTRA

All Investigations Undertaken  
No Case Too Bizarre  
Reasonable Rates  
Enquire 13 Paternoster Row

The mysterious lady detective has already gained a considerable reputation as being able to crack the cases that Scotland Yard can't. The allure of her remaining permanently veiled only adds to the papers' desire to speculate. In some ways, it's a wonder that she feels the need to advertise at all. There are a variety of stories that seek to explain the veil: a terrible disfigurement, often said to have been suffered in the pursuit of a case, despite the fact that it seems she first appeared on the scene with the veil in place. Some even have it that the veil is simply mourning wear, that she is a grieving society widow exacting her revenge upon the society that wronged her husband by exposing the hypocrisy and criminality of the great and good -- there are in fact multiple candidates for who the dead husband might be.

The cab clatters to a stop and the driver bangs on the door to tell her to get out. As soon as she does, he speeds away quickly.

The house is grander than Number Eighteen by some measure, but gives the appearance of being uncared for. Jenny steps up to the door and knocks, four times quickly in succession.

At first, there is no reply, but she persists, knocking again. This time, the door opens a crack, revealing a darkened hallway beyond. "You had best come on in," says a smooth voice, and Jenny, catching sight of a heavy veil, realises that the door has been answered by Madam Vastra herself. Strange, she thinks, that she doesn't have any staff.

She follows the detective into a study with the curtains pulled shut, lit only by a few candles. Madam Vastra seats herself on one side of a desk. "Do sit," she says, extending a gloved hand to indicate the chair on the opposite side.

It is, Jenny thinks, quite possibly the most comfortable chair she has ever sat in. It takes a moment to remind herself that she is here on serious business. "Jenny Flint, ma'am," she says.

Vastra steeples her fingers together. Jenny feels an intense gaze upon her, even though she cannot even see the woman's eyes, as though she is being watched very carefully. "Good to meet you, Miss Flint. How can I help you?"

Jenny takes the newspaper and puts it on the desk, rotating it so that the words face the other woman. "No case too bizarre," she says, stabbing her finger at the words.

A nod. "I am aware of the content of my own advertisement." There's a hint of amusement in her tone, but only a hint.

"You mean it?"

"If you have come to me, you must surely be aware of my reputation," Vastra says. "I take it that something ... 'bizarre' has happened to you. Or someone you care about?"

"Have you ever encountered a--" Jenny pauses for a moment, not quite able to say it out loud. "What do you know about monsters?" she says instead.

"You could say I'm intimately familiar with the subject," Vastra says, and Jenny has the strangest sensation that somewhere behind the veil she is smiling.

"All right," Jenny says. "Have you ever come across one that lives in a mirror?"

That gets Vastra's attention. She pulls a piece of paper towards her and dips her pen in the ink pot. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Less than half an hour later, Madam Vastra is taking Jenny back to Number Eighteen in another cab.

"I thought you might have your own coach," Jenny ventures.

"I have considered the possible convenience," Vastra says. "But hansom cabs are plentiful enough to suffice for my needs. And alas, I would have no one to drive it."

"Do you not have any staff at all?" Jenny asks.

"Is that unusual?"

"Yes," Jenny says candidly. "Don't your clients find it so?"

"I think that most of my clients are at the point of wanting something unusual, by the time they come to me. Wouldn't you say?"

"You might be right at that, ma'am."

* * *

Mr Gadfoot is perturbed at first at Jenny's precipitate action in involving someone outside the family, but is persuaded by the effect it seems to have on Mrs Gadfoot's mounting alarm. They take the new arrival to Abigail's bedroom, where the young Miss Gadfoot still lies asleep, twitching every now and again as her laudanum dreams continue.

"This is the mirror?" Vastra says. "Where all the manifestations have happened?"

"'Manifestations'," Mr Gadfoot says derisively. "Now, listen, I may have agreed to have you in the house, but that does not mean I will put up with rampant spiritualist bunkum."

"My apologies," Vastra says, "but I have no time to concern myself with details of vocabulary. If it would reassure you to be told that my approach is entirely scientific, then you should indeed take heart. What I cannot promise is that my science will be in any way comprehensible to yours."

Mr Gadfoot's mouth flaps open and closed a few times; Jenny has to suppress a laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"This _is_ the mirror?" Vastra says, and it's clear that she's addressing Jenny directly.

"That's right, ma'am."

Vastra inspects it, looking at her own reflection in it, studying the sides, tapping it as though it's going to reveal a hidden compartment between the frame and the glass. "A perfectly ordinary mirror," she says eventually.

"That mirror was a gift from my uncle," Mrs Gadfoot says. "He is a baronet, I will have you know."

"My apologies," Vastra says. "A mirror of great taste and refinement. But not one that has any unusual properties of its own."

"So what's happening?" Jenny says, then quickly adds, "Ma'am?"

Vastra stops stock still for a moment. "You told me ... Have any of the appearances taken place when others were present?"

"Miss Abigail was here when I saw it," Jenny says.

"And, indeed, when I did," Mrs Gadfoot adds.

"Ah, but was Miss Abigail not asleep at those times, as she is now?" Vastra says.

Jenny nods. Mrs Gadfoot says, "I'm afraid that I don't quite see the relevance ..."

"And the first appearance was when Miss Abigail was in here alone?"

Jenny nods.

"A single conscious mind," Vastra says, musing. "Miss Flint," she says. "Can you tell us what happened before you saw the ... whatever-it-was?"

Jenny suddenly feels transfixed, as though she's on the stage in the theatre and the spotlight is shining bright upon her. "I suppose I was ... imagining things. What it might be like if Miss Abigail was fully recovered." She finds herself unwilling to lie to Madam Vastra. But she knows she can't tell the whole truth either.

"I see," Vastra says. She turns to Mrs Gadfoot. "And you, madam?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

"Before the creature appeared, were you indulging in any ... flights of fancy?"

"I suppose that I was tired," Mrs Gadfoot allows. "My mind was probably wandering somewhat. Actually, now that I think of it ..."

"Yes?" Vastra prompts.

"I suppose I thought that I saw in the mirror what I was imagining--"

"That's the same as happened to me," Jenny says excitedly, before realising that she's interrupted her mistress. "Sorry, ma'am."

But Mrs Gadfoot barely seems to notice. "But when I turned to look at it head-on, that's when I saw it. The nothing-thing."

"Thank you for your candour," Vastra says. "I must consider this a while. I may need to consult with ... a friend."

* * *

Vastra doesn't give them any specific instructions, but Abigail moves into the spare bedroom and the mirror is covered over with a dustsheet. Jenny does not consider that this is likely to be effective, but it seems to make everyone else feel better.

While they wait, Jenny determines to find out everything she can about Madam Vastra. She spends her half-day off on Wednesday afternoon in the library, poring over the newspaper archive.

The reports usually focus on the sensational details of the cases. If Vastra is mentioned, it's either that her involvement is just another sensational detail, or in a way that heavily implies that _of course_ Scotland Yard would have cracked the case eventually. Actual information of any use is very difficult to come by, and the reliability of what material does exist is dubious at best. Jenny does manage to find out that Vastra has been active for the past four years -- which tallies with her own memory of first hearing about the strange woman detective, and wondering if such an exotic career would ever be a possibility for her -- and that no reliable witness has ever come forward with stories of what might be beneath her veil.

There is, of course, no information on whether Vastra prefers the company of men or women, and Jenny finds herself wondering why she was looking for such things in the first place.

* * *

She's out on an errand to the butcher -- distinctly not Jenny's job, in her opinion, but with everything topsy-turvy at the moment she doesn't see much point in arguing -- when she hears it. She saw an elephant once at the zoo, and that's the closest thing she can think of to compare it to, but she knows that there's more to it than that, sounds that lie far beyond her experience mixed in with the trumpeting roar.

No one else around her seems to have noticed; they're carrying on with their lives. She heads off into the alleyway that she thought she heard the sound coming from, but when she arrives she has the strangest sense that there was something there, just a moment ago, but now there's nothing.

Nothing, but not _no one_. And the figure standing in the middle of the alleyway is one she recognises instantly.

"Come with me, Jenny Flint," Vastra says.

Jenny follows, and after a brief walk they're standing on Paternoster Row.

"I didn't realise we were so close," Jenny says.

"Oh, these London alleyways," Vastra says. "A veritable rabbit's warren, I'm sure."

"What is a rabbit?" Jenny asks shrewdly.

"Well, it's one of those ... animals that likes to build warrens," Vastra says.

"Of course," Jenny says.

"Are you going to quiz me on wildlife some more? Or would you like to come inside?" Vastra asks.

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ thinks Jenny, still not sure where this is all going. "Certainly, ma'am."

Vastra has to fiddle about to find her key before they get inside.

Soon, they are back in the study where they first met.

"Have you worked out what's happening at Number Eighteen?" Jenny asks.

"Not yet," Vastra admits. "My friend has given me some leads, but there is more I must investigate." She pauses for a moment. "I will admit that I wondered whether you had deduced anything about me," Vastra says.

"Am I supposed to spend a lot of time thinking about you?" Jenny retorts.

"Information reaches me," Vastra says. "And libraries are a vast repository of information."

"Is this where you warn me off?"

"Oh no, it's rather flattering," Vastra says. "It's one thing to be a general object of interest to the public, quite another to meet someone who seems so ... fascinated by me up close and personal."

"Surely half your clients--"

"I'll ask you again," Vastra says. "What have you deduced?"

"I don't believe any of the stories in the papers," Jenny says. "Especially not that one about you being Lady Fortescue-Smythe. We saw her once at the Albert Hall and ... well, let's just say she's not your build."

"Who do you think I am?" Vastra asks.

"I don't know," Jenny admits. "But I know what I think you're not."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Human," Jenny says simply.

"Perhaps you'd best be going now, Miss Flint."

But Jenny is convinced that somewhere behind the veil, Vastra is smiling.

* * *

It's almost a fortnight before Vastra returns to Number Eighteen. Mr Gadfoot gathers the whole household in the drawing room to hear Vastra's conclusions. Even Abigail is there, sitting in the easy chair, though not fully paying attention. Dr Invers' tonic has become the only sure way of her getting a full night's sleep; Jenny hates seeing the effects it has an her.

"There are entities far beyond your normal comprehension," Vastra begins. "Not, I promise you, ghosts and spirits, though such as you would call that do exist. But there are many things which the people of your century can barely even imagine."

"Our century?" Mr Gadfoot splutters.

"This _would_ all be much easier to explain if anyone in your blighted ape society had uncovered at least the rudiments of quantum mechanics by now," Vastra snaps, and it's the first time Jenny's heard her say anything that isn't perfectly calm and measured. "There are creatures that exist in the realms of ... possibility. Of the indeterminate might-have-been. Creatures that _feed_ on things that never happened. Some of them are even sentient, but you can count yourselves lucky indeed that you have not attracted the attention of the Weeping Angels."

"I ... don't think we're following you, ma'am," Jenny says.

"We have already established that the mirror is not important," Vastra says, "its distinguished provenance aside." Mrs Gadfoot, about to protest, is mollified. "It is, quite literally, just a reflection of the creature's ability. I do not believe that it acts consciously, but it is drawn to your own conscious activity. To the contemplation of that which is not, but might be. It can draw from there the potentiality of another universe, and feed on that non-existent timeline." She stops for a moment. "Perhaps it is more closely related to the Reapers than the Angels ..."

"Angels indeed! But ... allowing for the sake of argument that all this poppycock is indeed some sort of alternative 'science'," Mr Gadfoot says, "what can we _do_ about the matter?"

"Oh, that is very simple," Vastra says. "We must draw it out. Draw it out and destroy it, before it infests all of London."

"And how precisely do you propose we do that?"

"Oh, that is very simple. We simply need to find out which of you has the greatest imagination. The strongest unfulfilled desires."

Vastra looks around the room, but she is facing Jenny directly when she says, "Any volunteers?"

* * *

"So what am I supposed to do?" Jenny asks.

They are standing in the hallway outside Abigail's room.

"Look into the mirror," Vastra says. "Really look. Think about whatever it is that you must devoutly wish for, but seems so far from being possible in your own world."

"And that will bring forth the creature?"

"It will. But while it remains in your perception only, I cannot do anything to it. It will disappear as soon as I enter the same perceptual field as you. You must let it feed on your possibility enough that it comes forth into reality."

Dick is waiting just by the door. "I still don't see why it has to be you," he says.

"Are you jealous that I've got more imagination than you?"

"No!" he says hotly. "Though I _have_ , you know. I just don't want you getting hurt."

"Do not worry, Richard Davidson," Vastra says. Her tone is extremely serious. "I shall be waiting."

"Do I give you a signal or something?"

"I will know when it is time," Vastra says.

Jenny doesn't feel as reassured as she thinks Vastra might have intended. "Well, then," Jenny says. "Here goes."

She walks through the door into the room.

It's just the same room she's spent time in every day for years now. Helping Miss Abigail with all sorts of daily tasks, dressing and undressing her--

Abigail's there in the mirror, naked. She can see it out of the corner of her eye. But she isn't attending to her, or at least not in the usual way ...

It's beginning. But is it enough? These sorts of idle fantasies have played across her mind for years without bringing forth monsters. She hears Vastra's voice in her mind. _Think about whatever it is that you must devoutly wish for, but seems so far from being possible in your own world._

The vision in the mirror changes. It's Jenny, in a bridal gown and veil, exchanging vows and rings ... but not with a husband. The Jenny in the mirror has a wife.

She realises with a start the other bride isn't Abigail, or anyone else, but Vastra, wearing a white version of the black outfit Jenny has always seen her in.

She stares straight into the mirror, watches as Jenny-in-the-mirror takes Vastra-in-the-mirror's veil in her hands and begins to lift it--

But then the _void empty nothing between universes_ is in the mirror instead, and perhaps it's because she can't imagine what's beneath the veil, but there's no time to think about that now because the _screaming endless infinite emptiness_ is coming out of the mirror now, and it has Vastra's shape, but it's an absence, a hole in the world where meaning should be, and there's a sound like a metallic clattering as it climbs out of the glass, the mirror's surface rippling as though it's a pond.

Vastra -- the real Vastra -- bursts into the room, holding a sword in both hands. But it's like no sword Jenny's ever seen before, its blade shimmering electric blue as though it's flickering in and out of existence. She slices and thrusts and stabs and the creature withdraws for a moment, wounded.

But then it leaps back, stronger than before. Jenny scrambles backwards over the bed, diving for cover behind the wardrobe. She watches in growing confusion as Vastra struggles against the creature: whatever power Vastra's sword has definitely seemed capable of cutting into its non-existence, but now it seems to be recovering.

How is it becoming stronger again? Jenny is hardly concentrating on the unreal and the barely possible now, with the creature, the _no space no time nothingness_ here in the room, in a parody of Vastra's form, equally matched against her.

It's as Vastra and the creature circle one another that she realises what's happening. Vastra had no way of knowing what form Jenny's imagined possibility would take. But now that she's seen it, _she_ is the one whose imagination is powering it, fuelling it with the possibility she could never have imagined, that Jenny might be interested in her.

But it's a creature of possibility, Jenny realises. The only way to stop it is to make the possible into the real.

"Madam Vastra!" she shouts.

"Not now, Jenny!" Vastra shouts back. "I'm-- rather-- busy-- fighting!" Each word is punctuated with a parry or a roll or a desperate kick.

"When this is all over, I'm going to kiss you!"

Vastra looks straight at her, and for just a moment Jenny thinks she can see piercing eyes behind the veil. And then the creature is rushing at her, but it's losing its coherence, its form decaying into ribbons and slivers, even before Vastra turns back to it and fillets it with her eldritch sword.

"And also," Jenny continues, "you're going to give me swordfighting lessons."

The creature has disappeared, and whether it's because of what Vastra did or what Jenny said is impossible to tell.

Vastra's tone suddenly becomes serious. "I'm going to do something now that I haven't done in company at any time in the past four years, Jenny. I'm going to remove my veil."

And sure enough, she does. Jenny takes in the details -- the scales, the ridges, the bright green colour -- before what they amount to becomes clear.

"Well, you're not screaming," Vastra says. "That's a good start."

"So you're some sort of ... lizard woman?"

"I'm told by my friend that one day your species will refer to mine as 'Silurians'."

"Why me?" Jenny asks. "Four years of hiding, and now you reveal yourself to a maid."

"Your species has an ... atavistic fear of mine. When I first-- No, let's not talk about that. But most of your kind would be screaming at the very sight of me. But somehow, when I first saw you, I could sense that you were different."

Jenny thinks for a moment. "You must be terribly lonely."

"I don't ..." Vastra begins, but then tails off. "Yes," she says simply.

Jenny leans across and kisses her. Vastra kisses back. Her lips are cold against Jenny's, but Jenny finds that she doesn't mind that in the slightest.

Eventually, they break apart. Vastra puts her veil back on, in case the Gadfoots come in.

"How much of all that do you think they heard?" Jenny asks.

"Enough, I would wager," Vastra says.

"I'm going to lose my job, aren't I?"

"I was given to understand that you were seeking new employment anyway."

"How did you know that?"

"When you first came to see me, you showed me my own advertisement. But did you realise that you were also showing me all the advertisements you had circled?"

"Nothing gets past the great detective," Jenny says. Then, after a pause, "It really _isn't_ the done thing, you not having any staff, you know."

"I think you may be right, Miss Flint. I will speak to your employer about the possibility of ... stealing you away."

Jenny grins. "Oh, I think you've already done that."

Vastra touches a finger to Jenny's lips, and she kisses it tenderly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Тайны и обманы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377023) by [MarvellousPinecone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvellousPinecone/pseuds/MarvellousPinecone)




End file.
